


Those of Us who do not Sleep

by SkeletalConstellation



Category: Cookie Run (Video Game)
Genre: ALRIGHT HERE WE GO WITH THE MORE SPECIFIC/SPOILERY TAGS, AND THIS IS HOW I COPE, Alternate Universe - Ghosts, Alternate Universe - Zombies, Bugs & Insects, Decay, Entomophobia, Everyone is Dead, I am existential, I swear this is less dark than it looks, I'm sorry all my fics have undeath, Implied/Referenced Drug Use, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Like talk about embalming practices, M/M, Overdosing, Poisoning, Rockstar is very dead, There's gonna be some icky content in this!, This is gonna be really really REALLY gross, Undead, also Whipped Cream is Rockstar's twin because I love that HC, and how the human body decays, and maggots, if I end up continuing this it'll become more mintrocky, is it really major character death if everyone's dead to begin with, kinda human AU but the names are the same, mint is somehow more dead than rockstar, necrophobia, this is sorta mintrock if you squint??, we don't question it
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-02-26
Updated: 2019-03-06
Packaged: 2019-11-05 21:30:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17926706
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkeletalConstellation/pseuds/SkeletalConstellation
Summary: Rockstar should have seen his death coming- the saying was "Die young, leave a pretty corpse" after all.Alternative Title: the author listened to "like real people do" by hozier on loop for 9 hours then wrote this





	1. Insomnia

**Author's Note:**

> I'm Sorry! It's Icky! I'm in a gross mood! 
> 
> This was gonna be a one-off but I'm way too invested in this, expect more chapters.

Rockstar should have seen his death coming- the saying was "Die young, leave a pretty corpse" after all.

Though, from the smell, he'd guess his corpse was anything but pretty.

 

He had woken in suffocating darkness, surrounded by the stench of formaldehyde and the stickiness of his own residual bodily fluids leaking through his pores- alright, he'd admit it, that was absolutely disgusting. 

He tried spitting to determine which way was up, only to find his mouth dry- should've known, knowing how they embalmed bodies he was probably stuffed full of cotton. Oh well. At least they didn't cremate him. He didn't know he could be greatful after death.

There was a heavy weight on his chest, and he reached for it, feeling smooth wood and a sense of relief under his ruined fingers. Thank god, those fuckers actually respected his last wish and buried his guitar with him.

Now there was only the issue of being stuck in a tiny, cramped box, deep underground.

 

Well, only way to get anything done was to do it yourself.

 

After several hours of clawing his way through the heavy coffin lid, then six feet of dirt, Rockstar breached the surface, feeling overwhelming relief when cold air hit his bloodied fingertips. He pulled himself up, coughing and gagging on dirt and insects as he did- god that was nasty. Zero out of ten, would not recommend.

He grasped the ground best he could, dragging him and his guitar out of the damp, grassy earth. After making it to the surface, he took a moment, catching his breath through mildewed lungs. Glancing around, he saw his grave, covered in offerings left for him by grieving fans and bandmates. A bottle of Jack Daniels caught his eye- perfect, just what he needed for this bullshit night. He unscrewed the lid and lifted the bottle to his lips.

"I would advise against drinking that."

Rockstar nearly dropped the bottle, spitting out what little liquid he had managed to sip. He whipped around, clearly spooked.

At first, he thought no one was there.

 

It took a second glance to see the man draped across the arms of a stone angel.

 

The man peered down at him with cold, sad eyes, cradling what appeared to be a violin in his arms. He was dressed head-to-toe in fancy clothing that would have been fashionable in the Victorian era, if Rockstar had to guess.  "The food of the living cannot be enjoyed by those among the dead. You'd be setting yourself up for disappointment."

"Who the fuck're you?"

"Mint Choco, at your service,  _ Rockstar." _

Rockstar blinked, then squinted hard. "How'd you know my name?"

"Oh, I know a lot about you. I watched your funeral four months ago... You have good friends."

Rockstar looked back at his disturbed grave, looking at the gifts left behind for him. "Eh, more fans than friends... friends are few and far between in my field."

"The one with the rainbow hair seemed particularly upset."

Rockstar cocked an eyebrow. "DJ came to my funeral?"

"Were they a friend of yours?"

"Fuck no. Worst rival."

Mint seemed confused. "Really? By the speech they gave you, I'd assume otherwise."

"...Really... huh. Never would've guessed it."

"Was the pink man another rival of yours?"

"Pink... Oh! You mean..." he sighed deeply, slumping down against his headstone. "Whipped Cream... he's my twin. Good guy. Better than I ever was."

"I see."

Rockstar looked up, jabbing a finger towards the violinist. "Who  _ are _ you, anyways?! I'm a fuckin' zombie and you're just  _ fine _ with it?!"

"Of course, why shouldn't I be? I'm dead, too."

Rockstar blinked, then looked a little closer at the other man. On closer inspection, he realized he was looking  _ through _ the violinist. He could see the other side of the statue through the man's body. In fact, the only completely opaque part of the man was his violin, the old wooden instrument adding a certain tangibility to the intangible phantom.

 

"... who are you, really?"

"My name is Mint Choco, I am a violinist, and I died 178 years ago."

 

Rockstar made a tiny sound, smiling insincerely. "Huh. Cool."

Mint leaned on a slender hand, glancing over the guitarist again with a soft hum. “It's nice to have company, you know… I've been alone for so long…”

“Don't ya have other ghosts to talk to?”

Mint shook his head, shifting in the angel's arms. “Most have passed on by now. The circumstances of my death, on the other hand… have prevented me from joining them.”

“the circumstances- what do you mean by that?”

“Tell me how you died, and I'll tell you how I did.”

Rockstar really didn't want to think about the night he died- even without really thinking about it, he knew it was painful- but he also really, really,  _ really  _ wanted to know how the cryptic violinist died. His curiosity was beyond piqued, it was actively gnawing at him like the maggot currently inching its way across his hand. “Alright, fine. Deal.”

He took a deep breath, smoothing his white hair back as best he could. “Alright, so… I haven't been exactly ‘clean’ in my career. You get popular, get invited to some parties, get a little stoned. Nothing too serious, not at first. Just something to take the tension off the night. Of course, the stress builds up, the weaker drugs stop taking the edge off it all… pretty soon, you find yourself getting harder and harder stuff, trying to lessen the blows of fame, fill the emptiness left by real friendship. You become an icon, nothing more than a puppet for your agent to tote around for money. It leaves you hollow as a shell.”

“I don't remember the night clearly- I was high as fuck, I think. I… I went overboard. Oh-Dee'd in a bathroom stall. At least, that's the last place I remember being- everything from that night is hazy, in a nightmare kinda way. Don't even remember what I'd taken. Doesn't matter. My last moments were… Terrifying. I don't know if I’d ever been so afraid… and alone. I know that. I died alone.”

 

The ghost had fallen silent, and Rockstar looked up at him with a scoff. “Issat good enough for you, Minty? Or were you expecting a more tragic end?”

“Your death was plenty tragic,” the ghost murmured, sitting up and swinging his legs off one of the statue's arms. “I was just thinking about the similarity between our ends.”

“Well, I've spilled my beans,  I think it's time you told me about yourself.”

Mint nodded, jumping out of the stone angel's arms and drifting to the ground. He lifted the violin to his cheek, and slowly, sadly, began to to play.

 

"I was orphaned at a young age, as many were; one of four siblings left on the streets. My siblings all found jobs work, but I was unable to, so I turned to panhandling- the only thing our parents had left behind for me was an antique violin, and before their deaths they had taught me to play it. I hate to brag, but I was good at playing it- so good, in fact, that a gentleman took pity on me, whisking me away to a prestigious music academy at the ripe old age of ten years old. I excelled, and when I came of age, fame wasn't far behind. I was adored by the masses, and yet..."

He trailed off, looking mournful. Rockstar leaned in, thoroughly fascinated by the tale and the violin's mournful song. "And yet... what?"

"It became too much. You said it well... I wasn't a person anymore, just a puppet, a marionette whose sole purpose was to amuse the masses. They didn't love me, they only loved what I can do. I was a prisoner of my talent, kept locked away like a prized pet dove. I was not a person, I was an asset, a cash cow for those above me... I only saw one way out."

Realization dawned on Rockstar, his cloudy eyes going wide. "You didn't..."

Mint just looked down, bow dancing slowly across the strings. "Did you know that cyanide tastes like almonds? I didn't... it was comforting, in a strange way. I could pretend it was some kind of almond liqueur, rather than admit what it was to myself. I thought it would be over quickly, that I'd drift off and it'd all be over. I was wrong."

He put down the violin, sinking down to the ground.  "It was awful. I remember, after drinking it... the world started spinning, and I got sick. Really, really fucking sick. Did you know the lengths your body will go to stay alive? It will risk destroying itself in order to survive, ironically enough. But... my body wasn't successful. It became too hard to breath, and I lost conscious. It took them three hours to find me, and by then it was too late."

 

Rockstar watched the ghost with horror, the violinist's graphic description playing through his mind. "Fuck... I'm so sorry..."

"Oh, don't be. I've long since reconciled with the circumstances of my demise, but... it's kinda ironic, really. I tried to use death as a way out, but because I took my own life, I can't pass on."

Rockstar's brow furrowed, looking down at his rotting fingers. "Why do you think I'm here, then? Why am I... like this, then?"

"I... I don't know. It could be anything... dark magic, perhaps, or unfinished business..." Mint suggested, looking him over again. "Only time will tell."

"Well... I guess there's no rush to find out. I'm dead already, right?"

"So... What are you going to do?"

Rockstar grabbed his guitar, tuning the strings quietly. "Well... I guess I'll just stay here and play my guitar for now. Care to jam with me and that violin?"

Mint smiled, standing up and raising his instrument to his cheek. "It'd be my honor, one dead musician to another."

 

Those who walked by the graveyard that night would be convinced they could hear a strange duet quietly drifting from between the headstones, a sorrowful song of two lost souls finding company.

 


	2. Silent Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A surprise visit to his grave gives Rockstar and idea on how to finally rest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> introducing: Character #3! AKA... I have no idea where this is going but we're running with it LETS GO
> 
>  
> 
> this chapter,,, is way less mintrocky than I planned but don't worry it's gonna get more mintrocky in the future.

“I. Hate. Bugs.”

Mint Choco smirked from his statue, watching his zombified friend shake out his hair, scattering maggots everywhere. “Detritivores are a natural part of death, Rocky.”

“I'm sorta not dead though! I thought these little fuckers would go away-” he paused, then coughed hard, spitting out a large black beetle. “See that? That entire-ass beetle? I call bullshit on this death thing!”

Mint sighed and shook his head, obviously amused by Rockstar's predicament. “Happens to the best of us, Rocky-”

“I don't see  _ you _ covered in bugs!”

“... I'm a ghost, Rockstar. I look exactly as I did the moment I died.”

“... So… you  _ are _ covered it bugs?”

“Oh heavens, no!” Mint chuckled, waving a dismissive hand at Rockstar. “My body's nothing more than some dried skin on old bones, nothing the scavengers would be after! But, when they first put me in the ground, I did have to watch myself decay- not a pretty sight, I assure you.”

Rockstar guessed that made sense; his fellow musician had died nearly two centuries ago. “Well, I'm still… corporeal, so I got to deal with these nasty little fuckers. And I can't phase through walls or possess people or any of that cool shit. Being a zombie  _ sucks.” _

Mint would have disagreed, but he heard footsteps, quickly sinking into the ground. “Quick, hide yourself- someone's coming.”

Rockstar didn't need to be told twice, skirting into the graveyard’s mausoleum- it was a good vantage point, as he could clearly see his grave, but a visitor wouldn't see him. 

Someone with bright rainbow hair and a illuminated visor approached the large headstone, giving a disappointed from at the state of the broken ground in front of it. “Damn kids, no respect…” they grumbled, rearranging and fixing up the various objects left on the gravestone- an action that made Rockstar feel guilty,though he didn't know why.

DJ sat down in front of the headstone, crossing their legs in the damp grass. “Hey, Rocky. How you doing?” They asked, before wincing at their own comment. “I mean, I know you're dead but… ah, whatever. I just thought I'd visit, again… you know, check on the ol' headstone, make sure no one vandalized it- which, I guess I was too late, but at least the stone's still there, right?”

They looked down at their hands, fidgeting with the bottom hem of their shirt. “Look, I know we… didn't really see eye-to-eye, you know? But… I guess I wanted to say that I cared about you, I  _ still _ care about you, and… I miss you, Rocky! You were the best rival  _ anyone  _ could ask for… I miss you so much.”

They exhaled the air left in their lungs, pushing their visor onto their forehead to rub their eyes. As they did, Rockstar saw a brief glimpse of dark circles beneath them, a sign of exhaustion and grief painted on their face. 

They replaced their visor, the LEDs lighting back up in the image of two simplified eyes. "I'm sorry, Rocky... I wish I could've been more perceptive, maybe- maybe if I had, I could've been... I don't know, better? Fuck, I don't know! I wish-" They caught themself starting to get louder, taking a deep breath and letting it out. "I wish you were still here. I can't help it, I- I can't help but feel like I could of done more? For you, I mean. Like I could have... I don't know... I could have helped stop this somehow. Kept you alive."

They fell silent for a long moment, before stretching and standing up. "Well, it's, uh... It's getting late. I'll be back soon, yeah? Don't go wandering off, y'hear?"

The gravestone didn't answer, obviously. DJ turned away. 

"Sleep tight, Rocky."

With that, the DJ walked away.

 

Rockstar reemerged from the depths of the mausoleum, a low ache in his decaying heart. Mint's spectral head peered out from the ground at the feet of his stone angel, the ghost fully revealing himself once the coast was clear. "Those were some very kind words, coming from a sworn enemy."

Rockstar nodded, the rusted gears of his mind trying to think of an appropriate thing to say. "I didn't think they'd come visit... Well, other than to spit on my grave."

"That didn't look like spitting to me."

"Yeah... fuck, now I feel awful for dying."

Mint Choco nodded, taking his place in the angel's arms. "That's normal for one in limbo, to regret the circumstances of one's death upon seeing its effect on the living."  


"I wish I could tell them I don't blame them."

"At least you could still potentially do so, seeing that you still have a body."

 

Rockstar's eyes slowly widened, then he grinned widely. "That's it!"

Mint blinked, looking down at the rocker. "... What's 'it'?"

"Maybe the reason I'm still alive is because I died on the wrong foot with people! Maybe if I make amends, I can go back to being dead!"

"... You know, that might actually work."

Rockstar looked up at mint, quizzical. "Really? I kinda pulled that theory out of my ass just now-"

"Unfinished business  _can_ put one's soul in limbo, Rockstar. It might not work, but making amends might be worth a shot."

Rockstar looked down at himself, face falling. "But... I look like  _this..._ no way the first person to see me  _wouldn't_ call the cops."

 

Mint scratched his chin, then shrugged. "If you went late enough at night, you wouldn't be seen- and if you were, the spotter would likely be too drunk to remember. Do you know where you're going?"

"Yeah, DJ's place isn't too far from here- I've come here to visit my old guitar teacher's grave, and DJ would invite Whip to hang out on occasion."

"Perfect- we'll leave at two-thirty, then."

"We?" 

Rockstar cocked an eyebrow, and Mint rolled his eyes in response. "I am soulbound to the violin- where it goes, I go."

"Alrighty, sounds like a date then! Let's go get me re-dead!"

 

Rockstar thought he heard a twinge of sadness when Mint replied "Yes, lets."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for making it this far, leave a kudos if you enjoyed and comment if you have anything to say!


End file.
